The Trials of Kick-Ass and Hit Girl
by skca54
Summary: These chapters are a set of 'one-shot' stories detailing various scenarios that do not really fit into any of my existing stories. Some will be 'what if' type stories, others just emanations from the depths of my warped mind! CAUTION: SOME CHAPTERS *WILL* CONTAIN EXTREME CONTENT!
1. Hit Girl Seized

**Author's Note:** _This will be my twentieth story and heads off in a different direction compared to my usual stories. These chapters are a set of 'one-shot' stories detailing various scenarios that do not really fit into any of my existing stories. Some will be 'what if' type stories, others just emanations from the depths of my warped mind!_

* * *

 _This first chapter is a variation on Chapter 6 of my story, **Forsaken**._

 ** _**** Please be warned that this chapter touches on some  
very disturbing subjects, which may upset readers ****_**

 _I was intending for this chapter to be dark, but then I read **Extreme Training** by **Marx810** , which gave me some more, rather disturbing, ideas. _

_My apologies if this chapter offends._

* * *

 _Day 57_

 ** _Chicago_**

It was not until almost two nights later that I was finally able to find Mindy again. Unfortunately, it did _not_ go well; it was not the meeting up that I had had in mind! However, after fifty-seven days of being apart, fifty-seven days since Mindy had kissed me and then left New York, any meeting was better than no meeting at all.

* * *

 ** _Late that night_**

"You fucking cock-suckers! Get the fuck off me... I'll fucking..."

I had heard the shouting from the other end of a darkened alley; it had been Mindy's 'Hit Girl' voice and she was in trouble! I ran towards her voice until I could just make out three dark shapes as they rolled about the alley floor and I figured that the smallest of the three was Mindy; unfortunately, she seemed to be at the bottom of the pile.

The other two shapes were enormous and they were all a good distance away. I started to run harder down the alleyway towards them, but I was blindsided by another man who shoved me hard against the brick wall of the alleyway.

..._...

The breath was knocked out of me, but the additional armour, which had been borrowed from Big Daddy, absorbed most of the energy from the collision. I threw my right arm out, catching the man in the face with the armour on the lower arm. Blood flew from his busted nose as he fell to the ground. I kicked out and caught him with the steel toe of my boot; he collapsed to the ground unconscious.

I turned towards Mindy; she was on her feet, but struggling. Her arms and legs were held tight by her captors. She was screaming every foul epithet in the book and many that were not. I could see her body flexing madly as she fought to escape the men. Then she saw me, and she looked directly at me. The moonlight glinted across her face. I _knew_ it was my Mindy; despite the mask and clothing, I would have recognised those adorable green eyes, anywhere. There was a brief flash of recognition and then she struggled even more.

" _Help me!_ " She yelled out, sounding almost panicked.

..._...

I ran towards Mindy, brandishing my batons, but before I could get close, the men dragged Mindy away and then another man appeared at the far end of the alleyway. _He_ was brandishing a MAC-10 and he fired two quick bursts in my direction. I dived down behind a dumpster narrowly avoiding the bullets, which hammered into the metal. By the time, the bullets stopped and I had jumped up, Mindy was gone.

Despite sprinting to the end of the alleyway, the last I saw was the back end of an SUV vanishing around a corner. The licence plate was burnt into my mind: A90 5207.

I had a lead!

* * *

 ** _Chicago PD  
District 21_**

After a brief trip back to my hotel to change out of my Kick-Ass persona, I headed for the nearest Police District half a mile away.

I looked up at the impressive red brick building before climbing up the stone steps, pulling open the door and I walked towards the front desk. Behind the desk stood a thin woman, with long hair. Her badge said 'PLATT'.

"I need help!"

"Yes, sir, what's the problem?"

"My girlfriend, she's been taken..."

"Taken?"

"She was _taken_ by three men, with guns – they had an SUV..."

"You been drinking, sir?"

"What?" I exclaimed angrily. "My girlfriend..."

"Calm down, sir..."

"I _am_ calm..."

"What's going on, Trudy?"

I turned to find a man behind me. He was in plain clothes, but looked like a cop.

"Hank Voight and you are?" The man asked.

"Dave Lizewski. I need help to find my girlfriend..."

"I heard, she's missing – come with me."

..._...

I explained everything to Sergeant Voight – well almost everything; I left out certain important facts – I never mentioned her name, Mindy Macready, nor that my girlfriend was Hit Girl and I was Kick-Ass!

He calmly listened to me and noted down the licence number of the SUV before passing it to a uniformed cop.

"Go back to your hotel. I will call you as soon as we find something. Do nothing until I call. Goodnight."

* * *

There was no way that I was going to sit around and do nothing!

I headed back to the hotel, pulled on the wetsuit, but not the armour – that went into one of the many secret compartments that Chris D'Amico had built into his Mist Mobile, along with certain other items and some weapons. I had no idea how to use most of those weapons properly, but once I found Mindy, she would be able to teach me.

I had to get out, into the City – anything could be happening to Mindy; I had visions of... Bad things... Very bad things...

* * *

 ** _Southern Chicago_**

 ** _A warehouse_**

I was pinned – well and truly!

Three men were holding me down, one to each arm and another on my ankles. I was face down on the steel table. I kept trying to move a limb, but all that I could move was my head. I did my utmost to keep my mind clear, pushing out the horrible things that my mind was generating as scenarios for what was about to happen to me. Things that my mind was _convinced_ might happen to me. One certain four-letter word was constantly pushing its way forward in my mind and it was _not_ one of the usual four-letter words, which circulated in my mind and often found themselves coming out of my mouth.

I was Hit Girl and naturally very little scared me, normally. It was usually the other way around; everybody was scared shitless of _me_! Nevertheless, nothing scared me more than that one word. I did not want to contemplate what that word meant or what it might entail. Throughout the ordeal, there was one thing that was keeping me sane: Kick-Ass.

He was in Chicago! Where the fuck, had he come from? How had he found me? Could he save me? He was no longer the dick in a wetsuit from when I was eleven; he was a very different Kick-Ass. Please save me again, Dave. I need you.

Then I froze as I felt yet another hand, a different hand, as it touched my ass. The hand moved slowly up my ass, caressing it and stopped at the top of my pants.

I felt the first vestiges of panic as the tips of the fingers dug under the waistband.

* * *

 ** _On the streets_**

I headed back into the same area where Mindy had been seized.

I figured that her captors might have been local mobsters. It was possible that Mindy had simply pissed them off by targeting them – she still had a lot to learn about making herself a target. However, that was why we were going to be a team, so I could watch her back.

I was beside myself with worry. What was happening to her? Where was she? Then I heard it – a blood-curdling scream: " _Nooooo!_ "

A girl's scream...

I sprinted towards the sound, the armour making it difficult to sprint properly, but I pushed myself as hard as I could. It had to be her; it had to be Mindy, my Mindy.

What was I going to find...?

* * *

 ** _The warehouse_**

I felt my pants sliding down my ass, revealing my panties.

I felt the cold steel of the table on my thighs; it was really happening... I fought hard, as hard as I could. I threatened. I tried everything... Nevertheless, my pants were continuing to be slid down, past my knees. Then I felt my sneakers being roughly pulled off and my pants slid off my feet, following the sneakers to the floor.

I heard some approving comments concerning my legs and thighs. I tried to block out the comments as best as I could. However, I could not ignore the hand as it touched the waistband of my panties. I was shaking with fear, real fear. It was the fear that I normally instilled in others – just before I killed them, violently and painfully.

"You are very warm, little girl – I am going to enjoy this, so, so much."

"You fucking touch me and I promise you..."

"You can do nothing; you are my bitch – you may live... I may want to fuck you again!"

There was laughter. I tried to channel the intense humiliation into something that I could use. Something that I could use to fight the bastards that were around me. Then it happened. I felt my panties being pulled down over my ass and then down my legs were they went the same way as my pants.

I screamed and fought against the men holding me down.

" _Nooooo!_ "

..._...

Now, I felt the cold of the steel on places that should never have been exposed. I shook violently as I started to freak out about what I knew would come next. I was still a virgin and I wanted my first to be... Not the man that was now leering at my ass. I wanted my first time to be full of love – and not that word – that word that I just could not say or even think. Before that moment, nobody had even _seen_ those most intimate parts of my body. Now strangers, _men_ , were seeing everything that was most private and important to me.

Then I was being moved. My legs were being steadily pulled and I felt myself slipping over the end of the table. I was not stupid; I knew what was about to happen to me, but I could do nothing. I was totally at their mercy. I felt humiliation. I felt fear. I felt shame. I felt frustration. I felt despair. Finally, my legs were pulled apart and they stopped with the table at my waist, my feet touching the floor.

Two men still held my arms tightly, two more holding my legs apart and just as tightly. Having to be restrained by four large men would normally be amusing to me, considering my size, but right at that moment, I was fully exposed to all of them. I saw two of the men looking below the table to get a good look at my pubic hair. They seemed to like what they saw...

"Nice pussy – looking forward to a bit of that!"

I was mortified. All dignity was wiped out. My degradation was almost complete – just one final act remained – or so I thought.

I heard the zipper and then I felt a hand on each side of my waist. I was almost hysterical with fear, I tried to resist, tried to close my legs. I screamed and I did not recognise the sounds that came from my mouth.

I must have sounded like a caged animal going insane as it was tormented.

* * *

 ** _Outside the warehouse_**

I found the building.

I could hear screaming – a girl was screaming. It was a panicked scream, begging for whatever was happening to stop. It no longer sounded like Mindy, but more like an animal being violently tortured.

There were two men outside a side door. They were talking and laughing – enjoying the noise of Mindy being... I could not bring myself to say, or even _think_ , that word. I channelled the hate as Mindy had taught me. The first man dropped not knowing what had hit him. I had almost broken my baton with the force of the strike. The blood sprayed from the split skull.

The other man turned as he felt the blood, splatter on his face. He reached for his gun as my fist caved in the front of his face. My baton finished the job and two men were very dead.

I would not be mourning their passing...

* * *

 ** _The warehouse_**

I felt his member nudging at my opening.

Tears of frustration started to flow as I sobbed, willing it all to stop with every fibre of my being. I had never been so out of control of what happened to my body. I closed my eyes, blocking out the leering, excited men as they watched my degradation before them. I took an involuntary intake of breath as he pushed himself inside me; no easing in, he pushed right into me, deeply – I had been penetrated, the deed was done...

The bastard proceeded to thrust in and out, in and out. I still had some fight left in me, but there was nothing, nothing, that I could do except to keep trying to resist for every second. Time seemed to vanish. Everything seemed to fade as I fought to disassociate myself with what was happening to my vagina.

Then I realised that there was something worse – my body _liked_ what was being done to it! How the fuck? I felt revolted as the man's hands moved up my body and ripped open my shirt. My sports bra was forcibly yanked up, exposing my breasts.

I felt the bastard's hands as they ran over my nipples. I could not believe that they had gone hard, very soon, after he had started to fuck me – there I said it – he was fucking me. I still could not use that other four-letter word. I was disgusted with my own body. My own body was betraying me; it was reacting to things that it should be ignoring. There was nothing stimulating about what was happening to me!

..._...

After what felt like hours, but was probably only mere minutes, it happened. I almost collapsed as my legs buckled beneath me and I screamed out in euphoric ecstasy as the orgasm hit me full force. At least I assumed it was an orgasm, having never experienced one before that moment.

My first orgasm. Two firsts at the hands, or dick, of an overweight mob boss! I was appalled with my body as I sobbed and sobbed. I was broken; I had nothing left to give. He could do with me what he wanted. He had taken _everything_ away from me. He had _taken_ my virginity. It had not been _his_ to take. It had been _mine_ to _give_. I had wanted to give it to somebody that I loved...

I then felt something hot inside me. I sobbed harder as I realised what it was; his semen was inside me, flooding me. I was sickened. I just wanted to die. I screamed as he pulled out of me and I was allowed to fall to the floor. I rolled into a self-protecting ball, sobbing my heart out as I felt the bastard's fluids running out from between my legs.

I was oblivious to the shouts and yells of appreciation from all around me.

..._...

My time was not my own.

I was hauled to my knees and held there. I was still exposed below, but worse was to come as my shirt and bra were ripped off me. I was completely naked – at that point, I had no dignity left to lose. My humiliation was total. My humanity was barely there. The leering looks were unbearable and I longed for cover. I longed for privacy. I longed to be in control of my body.

Another man moved before me. I stared down at the ground, completely dominated by the man. Then I was sickened as the man unbuckled his belt and allowed his pants to fall to his ankles, along with his underwear. His cock was readily stiffening before me, only inches away from my face. It was not long before it was standing up before me. I was still being restrained by two men, but the fight had gone out of me, long before. I was their slave – their sex slave.

"You, bitch, you're gonna suck my fucking cock!"

..._...

I was not sure what did it. It must have been those words.

Something deep inside me started to burn, like a pilot light. That pilot light then seemed to reignite the fire inside me, the fire that was Hit Girl. The cold, extinguished embers soon warmed up and began to burn steadily just as if it were a corpse liberally doused in gas. I _was_ going to enjoy that man's dick; however, he was most definitely _not_ going to get much enjoyment out of the act.

Initially, I had had no idea what to do, apart from the obvious! I opened my mouth and found myself smirking, which did not help. The man misinterpreted my smirk.

"You like what you see?" The man drawled with a laugh. "Wait till you taste it; every bitch comes back for more."

I took the man into my mouth, ignoring the jeers and laughter and fighting back the urge to be violently sick. I took two or three deep breaths, preparing myself. I closed my eyes and in one very quick movement, I opened my mouth wide, just as a shark would before it attacks. I clamped down hard on his penis with my teeth and with every ounce of strength that my jaw muscles could muster.

The bastard screamed – music to my ears!

* * *

The scream was loud and unearthly.

Somebody was hurt, and bad... I smiled – it had been a man's scream... Only Mindy could make somebody scream like that! I rushed towards some double doors, following the combined scream and bellow. I threw the doors open and stopped, taking in the sight before me...

Mindy was completely naked and on her knees. The entire front of her body, her bare breasts, all was covered in fresh blood. Mindy saw me make my entry and I saw her smirk as she spat something out of her mouth onto the concrete floor. It looked like a piece of meat and taking in the sight of the howling man, his hands clamped between his legs, I felt nauseous as my brain pieced together what Mindy must have done!

Christ, Mindy!

..._...

I did not give anybody a chance to react to my arrival, nor Mindy's oral penectomy. Yeah, I knew the word; I must have looked it up sometime in the past – blame Marty! I took a baton across a man's head, caving it in. My other baton smashed in the face of the next man. Mindy was now on her feet, a freshly appropriated pistol in her hands. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was still stark naked and covered in the fresh blood of the man that squirmed at her feet – at least until she put a bullet in his head!

Part of my mind considered the thought that she looked a bit like Abby in 'Let Me In', you know, when she had just gorged herself on somebody's blood...

Mindy span around, avoiding bullets and punches. She shot each man in turn, in the head – one bullet, on kill. When we were done, there was but one man left. Mindy advanced on him, gun outstretched.

..._...

"You bastard, you fucking bastard. You took _everything_ from me, _everything_!"

I saw tears in Mindy's eyes, but she held them at bay. The look on her face was pure evil, which was accentuated by the blood on her body. The man looked scared half to death as Mindy came close.

"You know _who_ you were fucking, cunt?"

The man shook his head as Mindy pointed the gun at his forehead.

"You fucked Hit Girl and now Hit Girl is going to fuck _you_!"

"Please..."

"Stuff it, you fucking fat bastard..."

Mindy paused then she smiled.

"That has just given me a thought!" She said before turning to me. "Strip him!"

I did as she asked while she went off in search of something.

..._...

By the time, I had stripped the man, and bound his arms, Mindy had returned. She was still naked, but with a vicious looking blade in her hand. I recognised it as one of her treasured Balisong knives, which her father had given her some years previously.

"Hold him!"

I braced the kneeling man as Mindy leaned down and seized his dick. She took the Balisong and deftly removed the man's rapidly shrivelling dick and his balls, all in one swift movement. As the man screamed, Mindy shoved the severed bundle into the man's open mouth. I clamped the mouth shut without being asked. The man gurgled and fought violently against swallowing his particulars, but to no avail. Mindy pinched his nose and the man fought to breath, but he also managed to swallow his err, equipment.

Wow! A penectomy and an emasculation; all within ten minutes!

Mindy pushed the man onto his back. He was screaming, but no words were recognisable. Mindy proceeded to add a twin enucleation to her latest medical skills. Surprisingly, the man was still conscious, but in agony. Agony that could only have been beyond normal imagination. Needless to say; I felt no pity for the cunt.

Next went the man's tongue – again I knew the word – Marty and I must have been having a weird night looking up medical terms! With the man's glossectomy over, I wondered what Mindy might do next...

* * *

I was spent.

I dropped the Balisong to the floor and fell to my knees. Kick-Ass took a hold of me before I fell any further. I wrapped my arms around him and broke down into endless sobs, my body shaking. He held me tightly and I liked it; I needed it. I felt safe for the first time in hours – probably for the first time since I had left him in New York...

When I was finally able to bring my sobbing under control, I suddenly became acutely aware that I was both naked, and covered in blood. I was also suddenly vividly aware of what I had just done and the thought sickened me to the deepest depths of my stomach, not to mention the vivid flashbacks that appeared, unbidden, in my mind. I quickly pushed myself away from Kick-Ass, fell to all fours and promptly threw up onto the concrete floor of the warehouse.

Once I was able to control my heaving stomach, I shakily got back to my feet with the help of a reassuring hand from Kick-Ass. I immediately covered myself with an arm across my chest and a hand down below. I felt ridiculous, considering the situation, but I also felt so unbelievably exposed and immensely embarrassed.

Kick-Ass surprised me with his keen perception as he quickly strode over to the steel table, grabbing up my panties, pants, sneakers, shirt and bra. He brought them over and handed them to me before he then turned away so I could dress. I felt immense gratitude towards him; both for his being there and for that simple act of turning away from me and giving me back some vestige of privacy and dignity.

As I tried to tie my sneakers, my hands were shaking, making it difficult to finish the job. My shirt was ripped, so I just pulled it around me and held it across my chest. The bra was ruined so I stuffed it into my pocket. I looked around me at the blood and death without feeling. I saw a stack of containers that looked to be filled with something flammable.

I smiled as a thought grew in my mind.

* * *

 ** _Twenty minutes later_**

The warehouse went up quickly as the flames spread.

We wanted to leave as little evidence behind as possible. I helped Mindy into the car, stripped off my armour and we drove back to the hotel. I parked in a nearby alley while I dashed in, packed my stuff, paid the hotel bill and then threw my bags into the Mustang's capacious trunk. Next, Mindy guided me to her current lodgings. There she ran in and then reappeared a few minutes later with with her own backpack, which joined my bags in the trunk.

We were leaving Chicago, and fast, before Voight caught up with us.

I opted to head west.

* * *

 ** _Three hours later_**

It was near to four o'clock in the morning when I pulled into a motel.

Mindy was asleep and had been almost since we had left Chicago. I left her in the car while I checked in. Once that task was complete, I nudged Mindy awake. Maybe not a very clever idea, considering her ordeal! I did not resist as her hand closed around my neck.

The hand was rapidly removed!

"Oh, God! I'm so sorry Dave..."

"No harm no foul!" I replied with a laugh. "Come on, Abby, let's get you inside."

"I hope this shithole has hot water!"

"It has; I checked..."

..._...

There was an awkward moment as we just sat on the beds, not speaking, then Mindy spoke.

"Thank you, Dave," Mindy began. "Thank you for coming after me and thank you for rescuing me – again!"

"I'm just sorry that I could not have got there sooner and..."

Mindy glared at the floor.

"I was weak... I should have been prepared... It was my fault..."

"Stop that!" I said sharply and Mindy was taken aback by my sharpness. "It was _not_ your fault..."

"I am Hit Girl for fuck's sake! How could I have let them _do_ that to me?"

"I don't see that you actually had a choice, Mindy. You may be Hit Girl on the inside, but on the outside, you are a fifteen-year-old girl. Yes, you're strong and, believe me, your punches hurt but you are _not_ invincible."

Mindy stopped glaring and looked sheepish for a moment.

"I know... Hey, did you call me 'Abby' earlier?"

"Yeah, why?"

"For your information, asshole, I am _not_ a fucking vampire! I might like to encourage people to lose their blood and I _do_ love seeing it fly, but I draw the line at actually consuming the stuff!"

"You _actually_ seen yourself?"

Mindy glanced in a mirror for the first time, forcing herself to look.

"Oh... I guess I see where you got that idea from... I need a shower I suppose..."

Mindy began to strip off, so I turned away.

"My clothes are fucking wrecked!" Mindy moaned as she threw them into the corner of the room.

Then a minute or two later, there was silence.

"Dave, look at me..."

I turned and then saw that Mindy was naked again; I turned away.

"Please look at me. Look at me and like what you see – _please_..."

Mindy was begging; I was astounded. I turned back and as I glanced at her blood stained body I initially felt revulsion; at both what I saw, and what I felt, however, a certain part of me disagreed!

"Do you like what you _see_?" Mindy was desperate to be appreciated after her ordeal.

"Apart from the blood – well you're hot, Mindy; I mean that, I really do."

Mindy smiled – just a little.

"I hear that from you and I believe you. I know that you care for me and you see me as a woman, not just as some piece of fucking meat to be fucked..."

I had no idea what to say.

"Before last night, nobody had seen me naked – not even my tits. I wanted it to be special – giving my body to somebody for the first time, but all that was taken away from me..."Mindy paused. "I need a shower – a long, hot, shower..."

She seized a towel and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I sat there for a minute until I heard the water running, then I picked up my cell.

* * *

I called Marcus and told him that I had found Mindy.

He was overjoyed, but he could tell by my tone that there was a catch.

"What is it, Dave...?"

"You sitting down..." I had refused to _think_ the word, but now it had to be said. "Marcus... Mindy was raped..."

There was a pause before Marcus replied. "Holy shit... Is she okay?"

"Yes – as far as she can be. Physically, she is fine. Mentally? I have no idea. I was too late; she had just been raped when I found her. However, she got one back on one of the bastards."

"Do I want to hear this?"

"You might... Mindy was forced to suck a man off. Only she didn't so much as suck it off, as bite it off!"

"She didn't!" Marcus exclaimed in horror.

"She fucking did!" I replied. "Just as I made my entry, she was kneeling down, stark naked, and covered in blood. She saw me and spat a chunk of meat out onto the floor... Then she killed them all, well those that I didn't get!"

Marcus was speechless for over a minute.

"That's Mindy!" He finally said with a chuckle, but then he turned serious. "Where are you two, now?"

"We've left Chicago – we're safe."

"Where are you heading?"

"Still working on that," I admitted.

"Stay safe Dave and look after my girl..."

"I will, Marcus – I can promise you that."

* * *

After saying goodbye to Marcus, I lay back on the bed and I must have dozed off for a minute as I was awakened by a scream.

" _Dave!_ "

I bolted up and leapt off the bed, heading for the bathroom. I found Mindy huddled in the bath, under the shower, shaking and sobbing.

"I'm here, Mindy... I'm here..."

"Sorry, I'm sorry; I thought you'd gone... I thought I was alone..."

"You'll never be alone, never."

"Promise."

"Cross my heart and hope to die..."

Mindy smiled, but only for a second. I turned off the shower, helped her up and wrapped her in a towel. All the blood was gone I was pleased to notice. I scooped her up and carried her through to the bed, placing her down gently.

I lay down beside her and Mindy cuddled in, gripping me tightly.

* * *

 ** _The following morning_**

We slept late.

It was almost noon as we awoke after a fitful night's sleep. Mindy had awoken several times, screaming. Mindy was still attached to me, but her towel had slipped, revealing her chest and everything else. I looked away quickly, feeling ashamed for looking. Beside me, Mindy stirred.

"You _can_ look, you know. I am not ashamed of my body – it is what it is. My tits aren't big, so sue me! I _want_ you to look, Dave. I want to be appreciated and not leered at like those bastards did. I want somebody to enjoy my body with love and caring in their eyes – as you do. I wanted you to be my first – for many things – but all those firsts were taken away from me."

Mindy faltered, so I hugged her tightly.

"Dave, will you still be my first. Will you be my first for _real_ sex? Sex that contains love. I want to have an orgasm that means something to me. I want the man fucking me to care about me and I want that man to know that I care about him in return."

I paused before replying.

"Mindy, I adore you and yes, I _will_ be your first. You can probably feel my appreciation for what I see before me."

Mindy blushed as she took a moment to look down at the bulge in my shorts.

"Let's leave any more sex for now, Mindy, okay?"

"Good idea; I am a bit sore down below!" Mindy replied with a weak smile. "I'm hungry too – I need some breakfast, but let's skip sausages, okay?"

* * *

While Mindy was dressing, I started digging through the internet to find out what Mindy might be going through.

I wanted to, at least _try_ to, be prepared. I needed to know what a young woman felt after being raped and how she might react. I wanted to be there for Mindy, every step of the way. I knew that she would be very emotional, that was obvious. I read that she would feel shame and there would be self-blame for what had happened. There was one difference though.

We were dealing with Hit Girl. Her emotions varied from non-existent, through happiness, to homicidal – although sometimes she was happily homicidal! I knew from personal experience with Mindy how she bottled up emotions and then let them burst forth as Hit Girl's personal wrath. There was no way that Mindy could keep something like what had happened to her, bottled up. It would be like shaking up a bottle of Coke, until the cap finally failed...

Mindy had been damaged when I had first met her, at Rasul's apartment. The damage had been due to her father, Damon, Big Daddy. Now, four years later, she had had her soul ripped apart even more. How much, more, damage could the girl possibly handle? Very soon, she would flip out completely. Could I prevent that?

I could see a future for Mindy – a future filled with murderous intent; she could be brutal, savage, ferocious, bloodthirsty, barbaric and lethal. That was on a _normal_ day, before she had been raped. Now? Could I control her? Would I _dare_? I was scared _for_ her – scared _of_ her – scared of what she _might_ do – scared off what she _could_ do.

Was it safe to let Mindy out in public? Mindy was perfectly capable of making the 'Red Wedding' seem like a friendly, relatively bloodless, argument in comparison!

* * *

 ** _Two hours later_**

We were heading west again.

"Dave, I'm scared..."

I almost crashed the car at that! Mindy, scared! I pulled off at the nearest rest area, parked and turned to Mindy. I took her face in my hands, hoping she would not rip them off.

"Mindy," I began. "We are young. We are strong. We're not looking for where we belong... We are free... We could rule the world, on a silver platter, from the wrong to the right light, to the open stream. With a crash and burn, we can make it better; turn it upside down. Just you and me. We are the dream, no other way to be."

Mindy thought about that before responding.

"We are young. We are strong. We are free. I could change the world. I can make it better."

"You got it, girl!" I replied as I dropped the Mist Mobile into gear and re-joined the road.

We had a long ride ahead of us. Where we were going, we had no idea. What we would do when we got there, we had no idea. We just had ourselves and that was all we needed, each other.

* * *

 _Kick-Ass and Hit Girl, on a crusade to champion the cause of the innocent, the helpless, the powerless, in a world of criminals who operate above the law. Crusaders in a dangerous world... The world of the vigilante._


	2. Future

**Author's Note:** _This story exists as a possible future for the **Forsaken** timeline as laid out in my story **Shadow of The Jackal**. However, in this case it is a one-shot that may or may not relate to actual future events in **Forsaken** or **Shadow of The Jackal**._

 **Synopsis** _: Damon Lizewski is the ten-year-old son of Dave and Mindy, who both died when their son was just two-years-old. Melinda (Mindy) Williams is the eight-year-old daughter of Joshua and Chloe. Now, neither Damon, nor Melinda are aware that their parents used to be famous Vigilantes. However, the two kids have been piecing together several years' worth of clue's and are on the verge of following in their parents' footsteps, with or without their knowledge._

* * *

"We're in trouble, aren't we?"

"Yes, Mindy, we are," Damon, replied.

"You know we aren't supposed to be here!"

"It's the anniversary, eight years; I needed to come."

"Mom said it was bad for you to keep dwelling on their deaths..."

"She's _your_ Mom, _not mine_ , Mindy!" Damon retorted.

"God, you are so damned annoying!"

"Says you, you little brat!"

"Let's just get it over with, Damon, please?"

I felt sorry for Damon; I had a Mom and a Dad while the remains of his were lying in front of us, dead. We stood at the foot of the two graves, which lay side by side. There was one single, but large gravestone.

...

 _In loving memory_

 _David and Mindy Lizewski_

 _Together in love, inseparable in death_

...

The death of his parents had never been fully accepted by Damon. He had always hated the fact that they had died in such a stupid way, in something as innocuous as a building collapse. He had felt abandoned and despite Mom and Dad loving him as much as they did me, he had never seen them as his parents and well, he could be nasty when he wanted to be.

Dad would comment that it was just his mother in him, but neither Mom nor Dad, especially not Dad, would ever talk about Dave and my namesake, Mindy. Damon had this impossible idea that something was being hidden from us both. I knew that was utter rubbish, but when Damon got an idea, it was not easy to sway him!

Damon hated me seeing him cry, he hated to show any form of weakness. I felt his hand tighten around mine and I could feel him shaking. I would not try to comfort him; that would just make him mad.

I was getting cold, too and it was dark. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Damon let go of my hand and started walking away, I followed a few feet behind to give my friend his space. We had been brought up like brother and sister, but at times, we were little more than just best friends and sometimes not even that.

Damon was a very difficult boy to get to know. He would rather fight people than just sit and talk. Both of us had been taught self-defence Martial Arts since an early age and I could topple Damon, too, when the need arose, despite my being a foot or so shorter than he was.

* * *

There was something going on and I was going to find the underlying cause of it.

My parents had died when I had been only two-years-old, but I could remember them, brief flashes of memories. I could also remember vivid images of green, purple, and yellow. However, I could not put those colours into context and I had never brought them up with Chloe and Josh. I had always known that Chloe and Josh were not my real parents, but they were all that I had.

I had found it almost impossible to get information out of the two of them about my parents. I was well aware that Chloe and Josh had not been model teenagers as they had grown up; I had seen the wounds on both of them. Chloe was a beautiful woman; however, that beauty was marred by some horrific scarring on her right shoulder and at other points on her body. Josh was viciously scarred on his chest and stomach, with other wounds on his back, arms and legs.

They had both tried to persuade me that the wounds had all been part of some big car accident! Whom did they think I was, to believe that? There were many little things, which did not add up; such as my Aunt Megan, now she was a vicious young woman, not to mention my grandparents, Marcus and Paige. There was something about Grandma Paige, that scared me and I had no idea why!

My Grandpa Marcus was a senior Chicago Cop and I knew that he had headed a task force, years before, that hunted down Chicago's vigilantes. I had become very interested in those old stories. I had also read many of the comics that centred on the most famous vigilantes, Hit Girl and Kick-Ass. I was forced to do that in secret as my adoptive parents said that the comics would warp my mind and I might end up trying to become a vigilante.

As if!

The later comics showed some new vigilantes: Shadow, Jackal, Petra, Wildcat, Trojan and Lynx. The comics showed them all as being very young, but the girls looked hot! Despite my believing that trying to become a vigilante was stupid, I liked the idea. History had shown that it _was_ possible to be a real-life superhero.

Well kind of!

* * *

It had started as a small argument, but as usual, it had broadened out into a full-scale row.

Mindy had tried to join in and the swearing had gone off the scale. Finally, I had degenerated into slagging off my parents, which I normally tried to avoid, but I was pissed off, well and truly. It had to have been the biggest row that we had ever had.

Then I went too far and I knew it.

"My father was _nothing_!" I finally yelled back. "He did nothing with his life; all he really accomplished was getting himself killed. As for my mother..."

"Stop!" Chloe growled in the tone of voice that both scared me and stopped me dead in my tracks.

I had never heard Chloe talk like that before; she had actually scared me! I saw Chloe look over at Josh, who looked very grim. I had pushed things too far; _way_ too far and the look on Mindy's face said it all.

Then Josh nodded at Chloe.

"It is time for you to learn some home truths, Damon," Josh said sternly. "We're going for a drive; just you and me!"

"What about me?" Mindy asked indignantly.

"Let them go first; we'll follow your father, later," Chloe replied.

"But, I..."

"Stow it, Mindy!"

* * *

I had no idea where I was being taken.

We headed into a part of the City that I had never been to and I was forbidden from going anywhere near. Then we parked up in a shitty looking street and Josh led me up a path towards a building. We entered the seemingly dilapidated commercial structure and walked towards the rear of the building, stepping around discarded crap, some of which looked to be of military origin. The place was obviously abandoned and had not been occupied for quite some time!

At the rear of the dilapidated building, Josh pressed the down button, on an equally dilapidated looking elevator, but nothing happened except that a small keypad had appeared beside the button. Josh punched in an eight-digit code and the elevator doors slid open surprisingly noiselessly. In distinct contrast to the outside appearance of the elevator, the inside was spotless, although rather dusty and looked very modern. Josh pushed me forwards and into the elevator. Josh then hit the ' **F** ' button.

..._...

That in itself was strange, as the elevator only _had_ two buttons, both letters: ' **X** ' at the top, with ' **F** ' at the bottom! The elevator dropped and I mean it _dropped_! It went down fast, but stopped smoothly after about twenty seconds. Nothing happened until Josh placed his hand on a flat, glass panel that had only been revealed when the elevator had stopped. The panel appeared beside the elevator door opposite to that which we had entered.

Beyond the opening elevator doors was darkness. As we stepped out of the elevator, lights started to snap on, illuminating a short 'L' shaped corridor that angled to the left and led to another door, which looked to be heavily armoured.

What in the hell was this place?

Josh placed his hand onto another panel, beside the door and we entered a small area. More lights clicked on and we found ourselves in a box of steel and armoured glass; it was a kill zone, I had seen them in movies. Josh proceeded to press a button, the armoured door behind us closed, and after he placed his hand on the biometric palm scanner, which was located by another armoured door, which then slid open.

I could hear a humming noise that sounded like it was coming from computers and air-conditioning. Suddenly, the lights came on, in banks, starting above us and continuing over one hundred feet. The ceiling was twenty feet or so above our heads. We entered the enormous room, although cavern might have been a better word!

..._...

"Cool!" I exclaimed, trying to take it all in.

At the far end of the cavern, by a large vehicle-sized steel door were vehicles from my comics. I recognised Titan and Iron Hide, not to mention the pair of Ducati Panigale motorcycles, one in blue and the other a tan colour. They were parked behind an eight-foot tall armoured glass shield that ran across the available width of the forty-foot wide cavern and had a large six-foot tall figure ' **1** ' on it. The top of the shield was angled over at forty-five degrees, to prevent anybody climbing the structure from the far side. The floor of the 'cavern' was ribbed steel and concrete.

Immediately to the right was a glass-enclosed room that housed computer equipment and large flat screens. It was obviously a Command Centre and there was a biometric palm scanner, similar to those that I had already seen Josh use, beside the door. Immediately beside the Command Centre was an external steel staircase.

The staircase provided access to a walkway, which ran around the central section of the cavern and provided access to a number of rooms on the second level. There was another steel staircase, which came down on the left from the same walkway, at the far end of the facility. The walkway was about ten feet off the ground and ringed with a steel and glass barrier that rose to a level of three and a half feet and the walkway itself was made of steel, but had a foam rubber covering. There were various doors, visible, that led off the walkway into rooms, with unknown purposes. The ceiling and some of the walls had foam rubber sections that reduced the echo in the cavernous room.

"Welcome to Safehouse F!" Josh said with a smile.

I was totally lost for words.

"Come upstairs, Damon, I have something to show you."

* * *

We climbed up to the next level and followed the catwalk to a large open room.

On the far wall were pictures, lots of them. The people in them; I recognised them. My mind was having trouble coping with all that I was seeing.

"So, your father and mother never amounted to anything?" Josh said rhetorically, then waved his hand around at the Safehouse in general. "You see all this; they set it all up."

I saw a picture of my Mom and Dad, standing together, only they were wearing armoured combat suits, but without their masks. Dad's suit was green and yellow while Mom's was purple. Then it hit me: my Mom and Dad were Hit Girl and Kick-Ass!

I turned to Josh.

"So that makes you, Jackal and Chloe, Shadow..."

"Bright kid, aren't you... Sometimes!"

..._...

"Oh my fucking God!"

"Hi, guys!" Chloe said with a wave as she and Mindy joined us.

"Fuck me with a barge-pole!" Mindy continued her eyes wide in awe as she desperately tried to take it all in. Then Mindy's eyes fell on the pictures.

After a few minutes of study, she turned to Damon.

"Well you must feel a prize cunt!"

* * *

She was not kidding, either!

I felt so bad for mouthing off about my parents when they had been heroes. No, not heroes, superheroes!

"Just for once, Mindy, we'll overlook that sewer you have for a mouth, as you knocked the nail on the head, precisely!"

"The rusty old nail being Damon!" Mindy laughed.


	3. A New Future

**Author's Note:** _The protagonist in this story is a few weeks past her fifteenth birthday and she is a Phase 3 graduate of the_ Urban Predator _program that was operated by the CIA and ultimately terminated by_ Fusion _(See my story_ **The Fusion Ultimatum** _). For background on_ Urban Predator _, see_ **Chapter 243: Urban Predator** _of my story_ **Forsaken** _._

 _This story exists within my_ **Forsaken Universe** _. Depending on feedback, this chapter may become the pilot to a full story._

* * *

 ** _Wednesday, 11th May_** ** _, 2016_**

 ** _London, England_**

The young teenaged girl had naturally red hair with blue eyes.

You would expect her striking, eye-catching beauty to be detrimental to her 'career choice'. Ignoring the fact that 'choice' had not been part of where the young woman found herself at that moment, in the capital city of the United Kingdom, her looks had been seen as a bonus; an asset. She was tall, an inch under five and a half feet in height. Boys and men alike enjoyed her impossibly long legs which were another of her many assets.

Guinevere Murdoch, her mother had named her after the wife of the legendary King Arthur, was at that moment sitting in a coffee shop where she was enjoying a banana and apple smoothie. She focussed on the smoothie as a few feet away, five, very immature boys of a similar age to herself, were examining her visible assets – mainly the long legs which were folded beneath the table but in full view. They were also discussing her hidden assets. After almost fifteen minutes of listening to the chauvinistic arseholes, she calmly finished her drink and stood up.

"How about a twirl, you gorgeous bitch, you."

Normally, she would just let comments like that wash over her, but as she looked around the small cafe, she saw some appalled faces – mainly parents with young children who should not be exposed to such abusive language. Guinevere glared at the boy who had just spoken. He obviously had balls to speak to her like that and he seemed oblivious to who else might be offended by his language. He stood up, approaching Guinevere. He reached out and took her hand. . .

The boy yelled out in agony as Guinevere twisted his hand and arm so he was forced to his knees. She kept up the pressure.

"You're going to break my fucking wrist!"

"Well, in that case, you'll just have to get one of your mates to jerk you off, tonight," Guinevere growled.

"I am going to. . ."

A mere ten seconds later, Guinevere left the shop after apologising to the manager for the boy who was struggling to breathe after having been viciously jabbed in the stomach by Guinevere's left shoe. The manager had given Guinevere a voucher for a free smoothie as a thank you.

..._...

After returning to her room, which was in a shared student house, she logged onto her computer and accessed her secure email to check for an assignment – any assignment. She had been 'active' for three months without any contact, from anybody. Half a minute later, there was a single email waiting. After entering her personal decryption key, she opened the email. It contained a single code phrase which directed her to make emergency verbal contact with a controller. Excitement coursed through Guinevere – maybe she was being activated . . . maybe she had a mission. She picked up her mobile and enabled a voice encryption application before she dialled a memorised number.

"Search twenty. Agent Alpha-two-delta."

There was a pause and then a man spoke – he spoke with a strong French accent.

"If you are a _Predator_ ; _Urban Predator_ no longer exists. . ."

Guinevere instantly cut the connection and she frowned. She had two more numbers to call – she tried each one and while the first line she tried was dead, she found the same person as before, on the second line. What was wrong? Where were her controllers? What was the status of _Urban Predator_?

Then it dawned on the young woman like a punch in the chest; she had been abandoned, she was very much alone and she would have to fend for herself. That comprehension only raised more questions.

Where would she go? Was her current location secure? Was there anybody out there to look after her? Did she have any family left? While she had training, she could not survive on her own.

The young woman sat down and she turned on the TV.

* * *

 ** _Sky News excerpt. . ._**

"In foreign news, it was reported today that several employees of the American Central Intelligence Agency have been found dead at an undisclosed site in Toulouse, France. The French Government have refused to comment on the events that led to the deaths of CIA Deputy Director Noah Vossen and Dr Albert Hirsch. Rumours abound that an unknown group of well-armed mercenaries were part of the operation that took down an illegal CIA operation which is reported to be closely related to _Operation Blackbriar_ that became front-page news, around a decade ago. A spokesman for the Central Intelligence Agency has refused to comment on the reports.

"Closer to home, a man was found dead in his home, in the village of Theale. The details of the man's injuries have not been revealed by authorities. Neighbours report that the forty-eight-year-old man lived alone and he was not known to have any relatives. Police say that there are _no_ suspicious circumstances.

"In other news, conspiracy theorists have been flooding the internet with talk of a black helicopter that landed in fields not far from the village of Bradfield, despite local authorities denying any knowledge of such an aircraft. Conspiracy theorists believe that black helicopters are used by the Government to undertake nefarious activities, however, there is very little evidence of their existence."

* * *

Reading between the lines, Guinevere knew that it was partially about _Urban Predator_.

She was vaguely aware that there was a training centre, or two, in France. By the sounds of it, they had been overrun and then shut down by the French authorities. Deep inside her, she felt relief – it was over. Had many other kids survived? So many questions but so very few answers.

She spent the next few hours working out what she could do with herself. By five that evening, she was surrounded by screwed up pieces of paper, several empty Mars wrappers, and nine empty cans of Pepsi Max. She held a single piece of paper before her:

...+...

 **Assets**

One Glock 19 Gen4 pistol in nine-millimetre  
One Glock 26 Gen4 pistol in nine-millimetre  
One H&K MP5K submachine gun in nine-millimetre

Eight Glock 15-round magazines  
Six Glock 10-round magazines  
Four H&K 15-round magazines  
Two H&K 30-round magazines

1,400 rounds of nine-millimetre ammunition  
Miscellaneous suppressors, torches, and cleaning equipment

8,600 Pounds Sterling (in cash)  
9,000 US Dollars (in cash)  
12,000 Euros (in cash)

British Passport  
US Passport

...+...

She had been staring at that same piece of paper for almost twenty minutes trying to figure out what to do with her assets and how they might be able to assist her in her future. She had her _Predator_ skills, of course, but they were only really useful if she were trying to kill somebody.

No – that was not quite accurate. Her _Predator_ skills also allowed her to research a mark. She had been taught to account for everything and to miss nothing. So – instead of researching a mark, she needed to research Guinevere Murdoch; she was to be her own mark.

She hit a brick wall almost immediately; she had not been born Guinevere Murdoch, she had been born Guinevere . . . what _was_ her birth name?

She had no idea, none whatsoever.

* * *

 ** _Early the next morning  
Thursday, 12th May_**

Guinevere awoke with a jolt.

The clock beside her bed showed that it was a little after two in the morning. She had had a surge of inspiration. Over the past few years of her life, certain memories had moved around in her mind and filtered through the brain washing. Most of those memories were foggy and indistinct but right at that moment, one memory stood out, stark as day.

She dived out of her bed, clad only in knickers and a bra, and sat down at her laptop, bringing it out of sleep mode. She opened up Google Chrome and then typed in a single word: Southampton. She then went on to track down images of seven-year-olds, at primary school, during 2008. She would have been just seven, but crucially, she had still been a normal young girl, free from the world of the _Predator_.

Four hours later, as dawn crept around her curtains, the tired girl sat back and stared at the screen. Staring back at her was a little red-haired girl with blue eyes. The caption beneath the photo referred to the girl as: 'Guinevere Jones'.

Finally, after many hours of work, she had a starting point.

* * *

Jones.

Unfortunately, it was a fairly common name – so a _lot_ of digging was required. After a brief trip to the bathroom, Guinevere made herself some toast and a coffee before she returned to her laptop. She ignored the fact that she was still wearing her underwear and she continued to dig into her laptop. A little over an hour later, she had more, much more.

She had a file on herself:

 **Name:** Guinevere Murdoch _nee_ Jones  
 **Date of Birth:** 28th March 2001  
 **Mother:** Mollie-Ann Jones _(deceased)_  
 **Father:** Graeme Jones _(deceased)_  
 **Siblings:** None  
 **Current Location:** London, England

She had a file on her mother:

 **Name:** Mollie-Ann Jones _nee_ Raeside  
 **Mother:** Elizabeth Raeside _(deceased)_  
 **Father:** Robert Raeside _(deceased)_  
 **Siblings:** None  
 **Children:** Guinevere Jones  
 **Current Location:** Deceased

She had a file on her father:

 **Name:** Graeme Jones  
 **Mother:** Angela Jones _(deceased)_  
 **Father:** Neil Jones _(deceased)_  
 **Siblings:** Rachel Saunders  
 **Partner:** Mollie-Ann Jones _(deceased)_  
 **Children:**  
 **Current Location:** Deceased

She had a file on her aunt:

 **Name:** Rachel Saunders _nee_ Jones  
 **Mother:** Angela Jones _(deceased)_  
 **Father:** Neil Jones _(deceased)_  
 **Siblings:** Graeme Jones  
 **Partner:** William Saunders  
 **Children:** Juno Saunders  
 **Current Location:** San Diego, United States of America.

Apparently, she also had a destination: San Diego, across the Atlantic and an entire continent, on the west coast of the United States of America.

* * *

 ** _The following morning  
Friday, 13th May _**

**_City of San Diego  
United States of America_**

The phone rang.

"I'll get it, Mom! Hello?"

"Hello. I'm looking for Rachel Saunders, please."

"Oh – okay. . . MOM!"

"What, honey?"

"It's for you."

"Who is it?"

"No idea – sounds foreign to me; maybe a Brit, like you."

* * *

 ** _Two days later  
Sunday, 15th May_**

 ** _San Diego International Airport  
United States of America_**

There had been no reason to hang around, in blighty, so. . .

After a mammoth, and exhausting, twelve-hour flight, she had arrived at her destination. Guinevere Murdoch was very tired as she flashed her United States Passport at the customs gate to ensure speedy entry into the country. Minutes later, she stepped out into the arrivals zoo and looked for anybody who might be awaiting her arrival.

..._...

An hour later, Guinevere was getting annoyed – as she understood it, her Aunt only lived about twenty minutes away from the airport. She rang their number but received no response – maybe they _were_ on their way. Twenty minutes later, she had had enough, so she hailed a cab and a further twenty minutes later, she alighted a few hundred yards down the street from her intended destination – she never took taxis directly to her destination; _Predator_ Tradecraft 101.

Her bags were not heavy – everything heavy was coming via a different, more secure, mode of transport. As Guinevere approached the property and turned up toward the front door, something made her pause. The front door was ajar and she was certain that she had just heard a scream. She placed her holdall and her rucksack off to one side and she instantly went on alert. Her training took over and guided her brain without any conscious effort.

Guinevere gently nudged the front door open and stealthily moved into the property. Her senses went into overdrive as her brain strove to gather intelligence on the situation as it unfolded. The ex- _Predator_ could smell blood – the coppery smell was thick on the still, humid air. Her ears picked up the sounds of struggling, of moaning, of crying, and of muffled screams. Instinct directed her to move into the kitchen – it was empty. She moved through the room, sweeping up a kitchen knife with an eight-inch blade as she went.

Guinevere peered around the doorframe and all colour drained from her face.

..._...

There were seven people in the living room. The most obvious were four men and it quickly became very obvious that they did not belong there. The home invasion appeared to have been underway for probably a couple of hours which would be why nobody had collected her from the airport. The men had obviously been very busy – a haul of cash, jewellery, and similarly valuable items were strategically stashed on a table a few feet away from Guinevere. It appeared that now the important work was complete, the men were enjoying some relaxation and enjoyment.

Guinevere's eyes darted about the room, taking in everything, and missing nothing. Another man, who Guinevere assumed to be her Uncle, looked to have taken a beating and he was lying on the carpet, a pool of blood adjacent to his body which was being steadily topped up from the man's stomach – a bullet wound. A few yards from him, a woman – who Guinevere assumed to be her Aunt. The woman was in a similarly bad way having also been shot in the stomach. The man was unconscious but the woman was trying to reason with the men, two of whom had another person pinned down on the couch.

The other person present was a young girl of maybe twelve. She was fighting for her life as she lay face down and naked. Her clothes had been ripped away – they lay on the floor in a pile of tattered remnants – and one of the men was raping her. The girl's petrified screams were muffled by her face being thrust into the sofa's upholstery. Something inside Guinevere snapped, like a weapon arming switch being moved from Safe to Live. With a flick of her wrist, she sent the kitchen knife arrowing through the air with incredible force and the blade sank a good six inches into the rapist's back.

The bastard screamed as his back arched and he fell backwards onto the floor, landing on his side. His colleagues were a little slow on the uptake, but Guinevere took full advantage of that. As she entered the living room, she swept up a small glass ashtray and then made for the nearest man

* * *

Juno Saunders was having the worst day of her short life.

A few hours earlier, she had been over the moon; her British cousin was coming to stay, all the way from Great Britain. Then, just forty minutes or so before they were due to leave for the airport, four men had barged into their home. They had promptly shot her father and then forced her mother to open the safe before shooting her too. Juno had been viciously punched in her face and she had huddled beside her father's body while their home had been ransacked.

When the men had gathered their haul, Juno had hoped that they would just leave . . . but no.

..._...

The men had begun to compare Juno and her mother – Juno had quickly figured out what they were after when two of the men had focussed on her. She had tried to run but they were too strong and she had found herself seized and thrown onto the couch. She had screamed as she had felt hands on her pants and her top. Within a minute, she had been stripped naked and then. . .

The pain was excruciating for the twelve-year-old to experience and she just buried her face into the couch and sobbed her heart out. She did her best to distance herself from the pain which built between her legs and the knowledge of what was happening to her, but it was all but impossible. Then, the man stopped thrusting, and he fell backwards, almost taking Juno with him. The young girl fell to the carpet and rolled to one side. Her eyes went wide as she saw a man with a massive knife sticking out of his back inches from her. The man was struggling to reach the knife, but his attempts were getting more and more feeble as he approached death. Juno felt nothing for the man who had raped her.

Then her eyes were attracted to movement, over by the kitchen. Somebody was there, but Juno had no idea who, but whoever they were, they moved fast and the man nearest to her fell to the ground, a huge gaping hole in his skull. A glass astray, covered in blood fell to the ground beside him. Then a face appeared in her vision.

"Juno? Get behind the couch, now!"

Juno could not make her limbs move, but a strong hand pulled her up and shoved her over the back of the couch before turning and facing the two remaining house invaders. Juno had never seen anything like it. The young woman moved with supreme skill as she evaded kicks and punches being thrown by the two remaining men. Knives were produced but that did not appear to bother her saviour as first one blade and then the other was turned on the men until both lay on the carpet, blood flowing steadily into the thick pile.

It was over.

Juno sobbed hysterically as she took in the scene of total carnage which was laid out before her terrified eyes. The newcomer checked her father for a pulse and gently shook her head before she moved over to her mother.

* * *

"Aunt Rachel?"

"Guinevere? My God, you look so much like your mother."

Rachel Saunders was just able to look around her devastated living room which was now filled with death. Her face was filled with sorrow as she took in her husband's dead body a short distance away. Then her eyes fell on the huddled, naked form of her daughter. Rachel quickly turned her focus back to Guinevere.

"Guinevere . . . please take care of Juno. I place her into your care . . . Juno?"

"Mom. . ."

"You will go with Guinevere and she will take care of you – do everything that she tells you."

"No, Mom, I can't leave you. . ."

"Guinevere, promise me . . . promise me that you . . . that you will take care of my daughter. . ."

"I will, Aunt Rachel; I promise."

With one last look at her daughter, the eyes glazed over and Juno's mother died.

..._...

"We need to move, Juno," Guinevere ordered breaking through her grief.

Guinevere dived deeper into the house and she found the bedrooms – more specifically, she identified Juno's. She grabbed a large holdall and began to thrust things into it: clothes, shoes, makeup, personal effects; anything which might be useful for the younger girl. When Guinevere returned to the living room, Juno was standing up, but the twelve-year-old appeared frozen and unsure of what to do next.

"Juno! Get dressed, or so help me God, I'll take you down the street naked."

Juno could not move, so Guinevere seized her by the chin and then slapped her, hard across the left cheek. Juno screamed out but suddenly appeared to come to life. Guinevere handed her a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from the holdall and Juno began to dress. By the time Guinevere had checked the table for some car keys – she had noticed two cars parked on the drive outside – Juno was just forcing her feet into her sneakers without undoing the laces. Juno then allowed herself to be led by the arm, past the six dead bodies, including those of her parents, and outside.

There, Guinevere tried to put her into the wrong side of the car before swearing violently and moving Juno around to the passenger side. Once Juno was seated and out of the way, Guinevere opened the trunk and threw in her own bags before she headed back inside and found another bag which she proceeded to stuff with all the cash and valuables which appeared to include Juno's passport and birth certificate – it looked like the men were into identity theft too. Guinevere made a quick survey of the property, including the open safe. She swiped up some more personal effects and other items which appeared to have use, plus some coats that appeared to be of Juno's size.

All that kit, she dumped into the trunk along with the holdall of Juno's stuff before she went back into the house for one final check around. She glanced at the now discarded pistols but rightly decided that they were murder weapons and she did not want to be caught with either of them. Instead, she just kicked each man in the head to ensure each was dead. She took a few moments to say a short prayer over her Aunt and Uncle before she headed out the door for the final time.

She slammed the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat of the car. Juno was staring forwards – the ubiquitous thousand-yard stare. God only knew what was going through the young girl's mind at that moment – it was probably like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion in there. Come to think of it, Guinevere was back at square one; where, was she going to go? An added complication was that previously, it had just been her, but now, she had twelve-year-old Juno to worry about – and Guinevere swore that she would protect Juno. . .

With her life, if required.

* * *

After driving ten miles north and then another two to the east, Guinevere stopped the car amongst a long line of cars parked at the kerb and she dragged the baggage from the car, two hundred yards up the street. That baggage also included the twelve-year-old Juno who was on auto pilot. Just as she hailed a cab, Guinevere dropped both the car and the house keys down a convenient drain. As before, she gave the cab driver a destination which was a couple of hundred yards short of their true destination.

That destination was a seedy motel on Morena Boulevard. Once Guinevere had checked them in, under an assumed name and using a fake but passable American accent, she shoved Juno into the room and, once all their kit was inside, locked the door. Guinevere guided the comatose twelve-year-old over to the large double bed and sat her down on the end. Guinevere knelt down and looked directly into her cousin's eyes.

"Hello, Juno. My name is Guinevere and I am your cousin."

"Hi."

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay? You're one hundred percent safe; I guarantee it."

Guinevere untied the laces on Juno's sneakers and removed the shoes. After pulling Juno to her feet, Guinevere lifted up Juno's T-shirt and gently eased it over her head. Juno did not resist as Guinevere continued by pulling down the shorts. Juno was tall for her age, and she had flowing blonde hair which reached down past her shoulders. Her eyes were brown and Guinevere was able to tell that she was about a year into puberty with plenty of growing still ahead of her. Juno was manoeuvred into the bathroom where she was unceremoniously shoved into the shower.

"Get yourself cleaned up; it'll help you feel better," Guinevere suggested as she turned on the water.

Juno yelped as the cold water hit her skin but then sighed as the water turned hot. Guinevere passed over some shampoo and body wash.

"Hey!" Juno exclaimed. "These are mine. . ."

"I'll leave you in peace. . ."

"NO!" Juno shouted almost immediately. "Please . . . stay."

Guinevere smiled as she sat down on the lowered toilet lid.

After twenty minutes, Juno shut off the shower and stepped out. Guinevere passed her a towel and the younger girl quickly covered herself up with an embarrassed smile. Neither of them spoke as they sat down on the bed and both of them just stared into nothing.

Then Juno began to sob.

..._...

Guinevere awoke with a start and it took a few moments for her to realise where she was. Then she smiled as she looked down and saw Juno asleep on the bed beside her. The girl had been almost hysterical after the shower, but Guinevere could not remember falling asleep. Her watch told her that they had both been asleep for many hours – the flight had tired _her_ out, not to mention the fighting. Juno was also exhausted for understandable reasons.

Guinevere pushed back the duvet and slid the other girl underneath before she stood up and pulled off her boots and jeans. She slid under the duvet, herself, and was soon fast asleep.

* * *

 ** _One week later  
Friday, 20th May_**

 ** _Mission Road_**

Guinevere awoke to find Juno cuddled up beside her.

Despite Juno having her own room, Juno would still find her way into Guinevere's bed, each night. The motel room was gone, and both girls now occupied a small two-bedroom apartment north-east of San Diego in the Mission Valley district. The landlord had given them a rebate on their initial rent if they moved in straight away. Guinevere was not happy with the huge dent the first three months, plus deposit, had made on her cash reserves. The cash was finite, at least until she could secure a steady income.

Guinevere was hungry – she leapt out of bed, took a very quick shower, and then pulled on a sports bra and a pair of knickers. She made her way into the kitchen and poured some chocolate cereal and cold milk into a bowl. As she sat down, she smiled as a zombie appeared from the bedroom and slumped down at the table. Juno groaned as her head rested on the table top. Guinevere laughed.

"You are _not_ a morning girl, Juno!"

"You woke me up!"

"You were in _my_ bed," Guinevere countered.

Ten minutes later, Juno was looking a little more human as she downed a glass of cold milk. She studied Guinevere for a moment before she spoke.

"So, Hit Girl, what's _your_ story?"

Guinevere chuckled uneasily and grimaced.

"No way am I Hit Girl, but you are _not_ all that far off the mark. Okay – this may shock you and I will understand if you see me as something you don't want as your cousin."

"Huh?"

"I am . . . well, I _was_ , a _Predator_."

"What is that?"

"A killer, an assassin; a bad person."

"A week ago – that was not the first time you'd killed."

It was more statement than question.

"No – I've killed before. I'm just really sorry that I couldn't have got there before. . ."

"Guinevere, you had no way to know . . . but you saved me and I will always thank you for saving my life. I know that I can never go home – I have nobody . . . except for you."

"When I was eight, I fell asleep in the back of my parents' car. I awoke to find myself being lifted out by somebody I didn't know. I screamed. They hit me until I lost consciousness. I spent the next seven years being trained to become an assassin. Most of my memories from my early life are missing. I know very little about when I was taken and what happened immediately afterwards. Somewhere along the way, my name changed from Jones to Murdoch."

"That sounds a little farfetched, Guinevere."

Guinevere did not reply – she simply walked into the bedroom and returned a moment later with something in her hand. She placed it down on the table before Juno. It was a Central Intelligence Agency ID card. It showed Guinevere's picture and her details.

"And I thought _my_ life was fucked up!"

It was the first time that Guinevere had heard her cousin swear.

"I may _look_ like a good little girl, but looks can be deceiving!" Juno quipped with a cheeky grin.

* * *

 ** _Two days later  
Sunday, 22nd May_**

After two more nights of having a twelve-year-old taking over the bed, two more days of a sullen twelve-year-old appearing at the breakfast table, and two more days of having a twelve-year-old mope the day away, Guinevere decided to make some changes.

Therefore, that Sunday morning, as Juno finished her cereal and was about to make the four-yard journey to the couch and the Disney Channel – maybe cable wasn't such a good idea – Guinevere raised her hand to halt the girl.

"You don't like wearing bras, do you?"

"Huh?"

"I noticed you haven't worn a bra since we've been together, despite you having several in your bedroom."

"I find them uncomfortable – Mom . . . Mom bought me my first about six months back."

"Do you have a sports bra?"

"No."

"Do you have a swim suit?"

"Yeah."

"Two piece?"

"I'll go get it."

Juno sounded a little confused but she returned with her swimsuit which was two-piece and the top near enough resembled a sports bra.

"Put that top on – got some tight-ish shorts?"

"Yeah."

"Go put them on – your sneakers too."

Juno did as she was instructed and soon returned wearing only the top, shorts, and her sneakers.

"What are we doing?"

"Running."

"Where to?"

"The beach."

"What? That's like twenty miles!"

"More like nine point six miles, actually."

"I'm not running _that_!"

"No – we'll leave that for another day.

..._...

Fifteen minutes later, a cab dropped them off at the entrance to Presidio Park.

"We really gonna do this?" Juno whined.

"Yup."

"You do remember I'm still a bit sore between my legs, don't you?"

"You run with your legs, not with your vagina."

Juno stopped dead and went bright red as she looked anywhere but at Guinevere.

"You are kidding me. You're twelve and you wince when people use terms like vagina?"

Juno said nothing as she tried to hide her smirk.

"Cock!"

Juno giggled.

"Christ! Labia. . ."

"Stop!" Juno demanded.

"Penis. . ."

Juno laughed and her face went even redder.

"Clit. . ."

Juno's mouth dropped open at that one.

"You do know what one is. . .?"

"Of course, I do!"

"Well, move it and the rest of you, in _that_ direction."

Guinevere pointed in a westerly direction and Juno's shoulders slumped as she began to jog.

"Faster!"

* * *

 ** _An hour later_**

As the two girls ran along the Ocean Beach Bike Path past Robb Field, Guinevere had a moment of worry when they jogged past a pair of uniformed San Diego Police officers. An alert had gone out for the missing twelve-year-old, but Guinevere had considered that issue and Juno's hair was now a much darker blonde colour thanks to some hair dye. At that moment, Juno was also looking very dishevelled and sweaty, so even her own mother might not have recognised her.

The past three and three quarter miles had taken an age and Guinevere was very annoyed with the time taken to complete a relatively easy run. Juno was _not_ as fit as she had thought which she readily pointed out – every five minutes.

"If you put all that energy from your mouth into your legs, we'd have shaved off twenty minutes."

"You saying I talk too much?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well, I'm twelve and that's what twelve-year-old girls do."

"Okay – let's go do some exercises."

Juno collapsed onto the sand and pretended to cry.

"Bloody drama queen!"

* * *

In general, the girls kept to the apartment.

Juno rarely went out, except for a daily jog around the block under escort. Guinevere went out, for food, and to keep on top of what was happening at the Saunders home. The Police had found the murder scene the following morning and an alert had gone out for one Juno Saunders. The Police were investigating Juno's disappearance and the possible interference of an unknown player [Guinevere]. The murders of Juno's parents had been put onto the men as the murder weapons were both present. So, apart from Juno's disappearance, the case was all but closed.

However, there was something else which Guinevere's keen eye had identified as she read through several newspapers each morning.

"Again – that's twice this week!"

"Huh?"

"I never said you could stop – you've still got fifteen push-ups left."

"Bitch!"

"I'm a British bitch – they don't come any worse; remember that, kid."

"There's been two home invasions this week alone – yours, plus at least one other before that. This is a pattern – I'd bet my twat on it."

"You Brits are weird. . ."

"Eight more. . ."

"Much more of this and I'll look like Arnie."

"Keep dreaming, honey."

* * *

 ** _A few nights later  
Wednesday, 25th May_**

 ** _San Diego Police Department HQ  
1401 Broadway _**

The policeman detailed with investigating the Saunders murders and the home invasions was Lieutenant Patrick Bonanno.

That evening, Lieutenant Bonanno was leaving the building at the end of his shift and he headed directly for his car. Strangely, the street light above where his car was parked, was out and when he turned to unlock his car, he tensed up as he heard a voice.

"Don't turn around, Lieutenant. . ."

"So, you know who I am, then. . ."

"I am not going to hurt you – I just want to talk . . . anonymously."

The voice was rough and sounded tough – maybe a woman's voice, he thought.

"The Saunders murder – a dead end?"

"Saunders? Home invasion – four men broke in and killed the family. The daughter is missing, presumed dead."

"There appears to be another three similar events. . ."

Bonanno sighed.

"Yes – I saw that. Budgets are tight and my Captain sees only a flimsy connection."

"But you see something stronger, I'm guessing."

"Yes. I need substantial evidence and right now – there's more important cases."

"I understand. Thank you for your candour, Lieutenant."

"Who are you?"

"A friend. You can call me Lilith."

"Lilith – the female demon?"

There was no response and when he turned, he was alone.


	4. Hit Girl and The Sperm

**Author's Note:** _For the purposes of this story, the hero shall be referred to as Bob._

 _This story uses characters from my_ **Forsaken Universe** _but is not part of the existing storyline._

* * *

Bob had no idea how important his role was to be. His life was to be a short one – but one full of valour. He had no idea that he would be forced from his comfortable home and then thrust at a relatively high speed into a completely alien environment. In that environment, he would be expected to surge through an acidic swampy maze, and then onto a tortuous two-hour journey which could end in success, or dismal failure followed by an ignominious death.

Success would mean an interception with an approaching target. A battle would then begin. A battle to enter that target during which many of Bob's companions would sacrifice themselves so he could push forth and complete his crucial mission. All in all, Bob would be the only survivor of perhaps millions, if not many more. Bob would have the chance to do what many of his distant ancestors never did. All they had been able to accomplish was a mad dash into a wad of tissues and then disposal in a suitable waste receptacle.

..._...

That evening, Bob and approximately 250 million companions were prepared for action. In their tiny world, they lay ready. Some, like Bob, were three or more days old. Their home, in the epididymis, was warm and cosy. Then, out of the blue, the alarm was triggered and they all rushed forwards from the lower end of the epididymis and were quickly expelled up the vas deferens at ever increasing speeds. After a long distance, Bob and his companions joined the flow of an organic fluid which assisted their mad dash into oblivion.

Bob was mid-way along the pack of similar microscopic organisms as they all shot up a long, very straight tube at about 28 miles per hour. Then, all of a sudden, they were out of friendly territory and they were blasted into the world of the vagina – or more accurately, the uterus. Bob and his accompanying seminal fluid were alkaline by design and the current environment was of an acidic nature. Thirty minutes later, the vaginal fluids had neutralised Bob and prepared him for the next part of his heroic voyage into the unknown.

Bob propelled himself forwards at the breakneck speed of 2 millimetres per minute. Many of Bob's companions had died during the initial vaginal invasion. Only a mere 10,000 or so survived to reach the fallopian junction where Bob had do decide: left or right. Only one route led to success, only one route had their target slowly loping towards them. Only one route could be conceived as successful for Bob.

Bob made his selection and took the right tube along with a few thousand of his companions.

..._...

"Target in sight!" came the cry.

Bob increased speed as he turned on a collision course for the target. He was not alone in his push for conception. Many others pushed forward and hoped for solitary success. But only one could win what amounted to nature's own lottery.

With a resounding explosion, Bob collided with the target where he found that about a hundred of his dearest companions had thrown down their lives to help him to succeed in his biological mission. He finally managed to break through and then the door was permanently sealed behind him, blocking the path for his unlucky companions.

Mission accomplished!

* * *

 ** _Three weeks later_**

"Fuck!"

"Problem, my profane little hand grenade?"

"Too fucking right there is!"

"Care to elaborate?"

"I'm late, you fucking cunt!"

"You always get up at this time, honey."

Mindy rolled her eyes and she muttered obscenities to herself.

"I have not had my goddamn period!"

"You've been late before."

"Not this bloody late, you gormless twat!"

"Ouch!"

"Sorry – you know what this could mean. . ."

"So, what? So, you're up the duff – I ain't got no problem with that."

Mindy's shoulders slumped as she sat down on the bed.

"I'm nineteen-years-old and I have no idea how to bring up a child. . ."

Dave groaned.

"We have three kids already – remember?"

"They're grown up – kind of."

Dave gave his wife a very patronising look indeed and Mindy elaborated further.

"They pee, take a dump, and feed themselves – wash themselves, too."

Dave laughed.

* * *

 ** _An hour later_**

"I can't do it."

"Just piss will you – you're usually full of it!"

Mindy felt slightly ridiculous as she sat on the toilet, her jeans and panties around her ankles. She glared up at her husband as he held out the simple plastic device.

"Okay. . ."

Mindy seized the elongated device and she released her bladder. Amidst the gushing, she shoved the device between her legs and intercepted the flow of urine.

"Ewww. . ." Dave groaned as Mindy handed the device back.

"It's just pee. . ." Mindy growled as she wiped herself, flushed the toilet, and then washed her hands.

Dave handed the device back and he watched his wife's face as she studied the small display on the device. Mindy's face showed no emotion for several seconds and then the tips of her mouth twisted into a grin. Her other hand clamped over her mouth and then tears began to flow.

"Good news. . .?" Dave suggested.

"Fuck, yeah! I think . . ."

Mindy dropped the device and she hugged her husband tightly.

* * *

 ** _That afternoon_**

"I'm disgusted!"

"Huh?"

"People your age should _not_ be having sex!" Megan elaborated.

"Excuse me?" Mindy demanded.

"Have you really got something growing inside of you?" Megan asked.

"Yes, Megan, I have a human being growing inside me."

"How does that feel?" the young girl persisted.

"Bloody brilliant!" Mindy responded with a huge smile.

"Congratulations!" Marcus exclaimed.

"You've got a fun road ahead of you," Paige advised her step-daughter as they hugged.

* * *

 ** _Two months later_**

"My body is a disaster!"

"It looks lovely," Dave insisted.

"Lying bastard!"

Dave rolled his eyes. His wife was . . . larger than usual which was making Mindy moody.

"I can't see my fucking twat. My tits are massive. My nipples are like door handles. I throw-up every damn morning and then feel nauseous for the rest of the damn day."

"You look radiant, honey, despite all the exaggeration."

Mindy wasn't having any of it as she continued her rant.

"I sit on the bastard toilet and piss about a hundred times a damn day. As for this fucking bump. . ."

"Let it all out, Mum," Stephanie commented as she strolled past. "You shouldn't keep these things bottled up."

"Killing you would make a space in the family. . ." Mindy mused.

"Love you, Mum."

* * *

 ** _A further two months later_**

"You think we should call Greenpeace?"

"I can fucking hear you, you little rats!"

Anne-Marie and Stephanie scampered away as their decidedly bloated mother lay beside the pool.

"You do kinda look like a beached whale. . ."

"Daniel!"

The boy ran after his sisters, laughing out loud.

* * *

 ** _A little over nine months since Bob's epic adventure_**

"I just want this, this thing, out of me!"

"It'll come when it's ready, Mindy," Cathy assured the grumpy vigilante as she made another inspection of Mindy's cervix.

"Why does all dignity go out the window when you're pregnant?" Mindy demanded. "All everybody wants to do is check out my fucking cunt!"

Cathy sighed and ignored the irate young woman as she lay on the bed with her legs spread apart in a decidedly unladylike manner.

"Here we go. . ." Cathy mused.

"What?"

"You have a show – the mucus plug has come away from your cervix."

"Great . . ." Mindy grumbled. "I'm falling apart now."

..._...

Another contraction hit Mindy and she grimaced through the pain. The contractions were lasting more than thirty seconds and Mindy was struggling with the continued and drawn out pain. The contractions were coming every two to three minutes. Mindy lay on her side and Dave was gently rubbing her back. Dave was very worried for his wife – he hated seeing her in pain or otherwise suffering. Initially, the stubborn young woman had refused any pain medication, including an epidural. Cathy had counselled against no pain relief, but Mindy was Mindy!

However, as the pain got worse with the contractions, Dave had finally persuaded his wife to allow the use of a combined gas and air mixture of nitrous oxide as a form of pain relief. Mindy chomped down on the mouthpiece and she sucked in hard as the next contraction hit her. Tears were rolling down his wife's cheeks and he did what he could to wipe them away and stay ahead of the steady stream of sweat on his wife's face.

..._...

Four hours Mindy had been in labour and she was sick of it.

"Oh, God . . . I can't . . . do this . . . I'm fucking exhausted. . ."

Mindy was almost sobbing and she gripped hold of Dave's left hand with enough force to cause permanent damage. From Dave's point of view, his damaged nerve endings seemed to be functioning perfectly as he winced with the pain.

Dave grinned and he gave his wife a _very_ condescending look, indeed, then he leant in very close.

"You _can_ do this, and you _will_ . . . you want to know why? Because you are Hit Girl . . . and Hit Girl can do anything she puts her mind to."

"You bastard!" Mindy growled knowing that Dave was one hundred percent right and she hated him for it.

"Push, you lazy bitch!" Dave growled in her ear.

Mindy was momentarily incensed – nobody had _ever_ called her lazy. . . She pushed using every ounce of energy that she could muster, which after so long was minimal. Her mind was mushy and she was struggling to stay awake despite the pain in her lower body. Her stamina was almost gone and she was on the verge of giving up. Only the gently soothing words from her husband kept her in the land of the partially sane. Mindy screamed out as the worst contraction of all hit her abdomen but she could do nothing but lay there and endure the unrelenting agony of the event. Then. . .

"I can see the head – don't push, Mindy – just breath through your mouth, short breaths . . . okay," Cathy advised. "Now you can push – a little more . . . keep it coming."

"I can't . . ." Mindy sobbed as she struggled to remain conscious.

She pushed and she pushed then suddenly she felt relief and she all but passed out. She felt herself being rolled onto her back and then she heard crying – it was the sound of a baby crying . . . her baby.

"Mindy – here she is; our daughter," Dave said as he laid a small towel-wrapped package onto Mindy's chest.

Mindy looked down and she smiled as she saw the beginnings of blond hair and the scrunched up red face. She began to cry again – but not from the pain, but from sheer joy at seeing something that she herself had created over the preceding nine months; with Dave's assistance at the very beginning of course.

"Hi, Kathleen, I'm your Mommy."

With that proclamation, Mindy finally allowed her tired and worn out body to relax and she fell asleep as Dave took custody of his new daughter.

* * *

 ** _Ten days later_**

"Gross!"

"It's a perfectly normal act, Anne-Marie," Mindy laughed as she positioned her daughter beneath her bared left breast and she eased the nipple into her mouth.

"I can't believe you get your breasts out in public!" the nine-year-old continued to rant.

"I am sitting in the privacy of my own living room," Mindy pointed out.

"But _I_ am here and so is Stephanie and so is Dad. Danny's watching the kitchen."

"Dave has seen my breasts before and so have you, I see nothing wrong with you all seeing them."

"They were a lot smaller the last time I saw them," Anne-Marie responded.

"Thanks!" Mindy growled.

"I've done that too," Dave pointed out with an evil grin as his daughter sucked away happily.

"Ahhh, that is _so_ disgusting!" the eleven-year-old Stephanie blurted out as she pretended to vomit.

"Give it ten years, honey, and Kathleen may be saying the same thing about you both breast feeding!" Mindy laughed as both girls cringed and fled the room.


	5. Wildcat Into Darkness

_This chapter is intended to fit in between_ **Chapter 339: Dark Days in Gotham** _and_ **Chapter 340: Gotham – Deeper and Darker** _of my story,_ **Forsaken** _._

 _I deemed this chapter way too dark to feature in my main story, _**Forsaken** _. As such, it has been placed here. However, the events played out in this story are critical to future events in_ **Forsaken** _._

 ** _**** Please be warned that this chapter touches on a very disturbing subject, which may upset readers ****_**

 _My apologies if this chapter offends._

* * *

 ** _Tuesday, October 4th, 2016_**

 ** _The Palisades, Gotham City_**

Megan knew something was wrong.

Curtis jokingly called it her 'Kitty Sense'. After two years of putting herself in danger as Wildcat, she had developed an uncanny sixth sense which told her that danger was close. It was like a big flashing red light and a klaxon going off in her head. The veteran twelve-year-old vigilante scanned all around her but she saw nothing. Despite that, she moved slowly but purposefully, watching for any movement, listening for any sound.

It did not help that she was somewhere she should not have been – but she found that she needed to go for a walk. She had walked the length of the grounds within Wayne Manor but she had not stopped and she had left the relative safety of the grounds and ventured out into the surrounding area. Relative to Gotham itself, Megan was in a safe area – not that _any_ area of Gotham was actually safe. The Gotham City Police Department was still fighting a losing battle against the criminal element in the city, although at times, they just fought to a stalemate. Batman, Catwoman, and the new arrival, Nightwing, were doing well, levelling the playing field enough that the GCPD was able to gain a decent foothold in parts of the city which had previously been off-limits.

..._...

The four youths emerged out of the darkness and Megan knew that she was in deep shit.

Megan had memorised the street map for the part of Gotham where she was walking, so she had a mental escape route ready and she bolted down a side street. She heard the pounding feet behind her and she knew that she was being pursued, so she reached for her cell phone but as she pulled it from her pocket, she fumbled it and the device fell to the ground. She turned to search for it but the youths were almost on top of her, baying for the proverbial kill, and she had no choice but to bolt again.

Megan was in a losing chase. Her lead was waning slowly but surely. The youths had longer legs than her and their stamina would probably exceed that of the super-fit Wildcat. While Megan could hold her own in a fight, her successes were due to her armour and weapons which added to her speed and manoeuvrability. The armour allowed her to take risks in a fight, knowing that she would be protected. She had none of that available to her. She was armed, of course, but could she take down the youths before they took her down. Then, Megan made a mistake as she took a wrong turn and she found herself facing a dead end with no escape.

The youths slowed and they grinned at the sight of their quarry, cornered with no ability to escape.

..._...

To the youths, Megan probably appeared an easy catch.

Her well-honed body was hidden under her baggy clothing. Normally, four youths would have been an easy mark – only she would normally have had her body-armour, swords, and claws to back her up. The youths came closer, laughing and joking amongst themselves. As would be expected, Megan was going to fight for her life, although she hoped that it would not come to that. With a small pistol in her right hand, and a four-inch knife in her left, Megan stood her ground. She hoped a show of force might scare the youths away but no, they were hardened members of Gotham's underworld and they were not going to run from a little girl.

Megan fired off one of her six precious rounds and the bullet struck the concrete at the youths' feet. The bastards just laughed.

"She has teeth."

"She looks like my sister."

"You fucked your sister."

"I _know_. . ." the man ran his eyes over Megan. "She looks just as nice."

Megan had not considered that potential scenario. Very little scared the twelve-year-old but for the first time in many months, Megan felt fear coursing through her. She kept her face set in a manner that showed no fear to the youths. She kept the fear down deep but Megan knew she could not hold the fear down for long. The fear of being killed was bad, but the fear of being . . . she could not even bring herself to think of the word. That idea was beyond heinous as far as her young mind was concerned.

The four youths made a move towards her. She fired off another round which clipped the left arm of the man furthest to her right. It was supposed to have missed but Megan felt her hand shaking. The man yelled out like a stabbed bull. Megan went to fire again but the action had never cycled after the last round and the slide would not move as Megan struggled with the small pistol. She dropped the pistol, brandishing the ridiculous-looking knife towards her attackers. The youths laughed at the incredulity of the situation and all of them were contemplating the sexual pleasure which awaited them and, to a man, they were hard where it mattered.

Megan, however, was struggling to contain her emotions, not to mention, her bladder.

..._...

The youths advanced and Megan found herself pushing back against a brick wall.

Her breathing was becoming ragged and her heart was beating faster and faster. Deep within her, she could feel herself losing it and she willed back the tears. She knew that she must not show fear – they would enjoy that and Megan was determined to keep in control of the situation for as long as possible. Her mind wished that somebody would arrive to help her – anybody; a cop . . . a friend. Nobody knew where she was – or that she was even outside of Wayne Manor.

'Please . . . find me,' she wished as the first hands reached out for her.

As expected, Megan gave it her all. She went crazy, lashing out at the youths, kicking and punching. She enjoyed the sounds she generated as she stuck them. They groaned and yelled out at each punch and kick. Megan could sense the blood in the air and the girl knew that she had hurt somebody. The youths were good. At close range, they appeared to be young teens, varying between maybe thirteen and fifteen. Their skills also varied from average to good. One, in particular, he must have been maybe fifteen, but his skills were good and they reminded Megan of somebody else . . . something else.

She had no time to think about anything else as the attackers began to overwhelm her. Despite her many skills, she was only twelve-years-old and she had a figure to match – all four-feet eleven-inches of it. Her strength and agility were useless as she battled against the hands which pinned her against the brick wall. A pair of hands were on each wrist but that did not stop Megan from wrestling and kicking out with her feet. Then she was forced to her knees and held there.

They laughed and made crude comments about what they could see and what they could only imagine.

..._...

Their lust for a female body – no matter what the age – quickly got the better of them and Megan found herself roughly dragged to the ground and rolled onto her back. She struggled. She fought. The fear rose inside her. She could smell the youths; sweat, beer, and bravado. Megan realised quickly that none of the youths had a viable conscience; they saw her simply as a piece of meat to be used and abused. The fear rose unrelentingly further and she began to lose control. Her struggling waned and became nothing more than spasmodic resistance. The hands began to check out her body while others kept her securely pinned to the ground. Her eyes darted from face to face – none of them spent long on her face. They did not see a human being, just a female creature who had something they wanted.

Megan began to panic as she felt hands touching parts of her body where they had no business being. She felt her breasts being pawed and squeezed. Her crotch being pawed. Then fear coursed through her as she felt fingers pawing at her clothing and she could feel that same clothing being removed from her body, roughly and with very little care. She could feel her dignity being attacked as the hands worked. There was not a single part of her body that had not been fondled by strange hands.

Her mind refused to accept it. Her mind refused to accept that she had no way out. Her mind refused to accept that her clothing was being ripped from her body. That quickly changed as she felt the cold air on her bare skin which had been covered, just seconds previously. Her jacket had been removed and thrown to one side. Her sweatshirt had been roughly pulled over her head and yanked off her arms. She struggled. She fought. But to no avail. She felt the cold night air spreading across the freshly exposed skin of her stomach and shoulders. For the moment, her bra was still in its place, covering her breasts and keeping them warm. Her jeans were next and she felt her shoes being yanked off her feet and she heard them fall close by. Her belt was snapped at the buckle, allowing the feverish hands to rip apart the button fastening at the top of her jeans and tear the zip asunder.

As the cold chill ran up her bare legs, she finally began to cry, releasing her fear and allowing her attackers to see that fear. She could see their smiles as she cried. The youths enjoyed the tears – it buoyed their courage. They enjoyed the control they had over the girl. If only they knew _who_ they had taken control of – although, if they _had_ known, they might never have attacked in the first place. Nevertheless, nothing was going to stop the youths. They were like sharks in the ocean, smelling blood in the water. Instead, they were sensing fear. They were seeing bare skin . . . _female_ skin. As their quarry found herself wearing nothing more than a bra and her knickers, the youths' excitement grew. One of the youths already had his pants open and he was busy addressing his sexual frustrations and he did not care who saw it.

Megan saw it and she began to shake as the fear took control of her.

..._...

The humiliation, the degradation – Megan had felt nothing like it before, but she knew that it was only going to get worse.

Much worse. Much, much, worse.

Megan screamed as she felt her panties being roughly dragged down her legs exposing her to the world. She felt the cold concrete on the bare skin of her buttocks and a cool breeze through her thin pubic hair. Feelings that were both new and fear-inducing to the young girl. That fear grew as her bra was ripped open and dragged off her arms leaving her completely naked and so very, very exposed – not for the first time . . . but that had been before friends. She felt a rough hand run across her bare breasts and she was horrified to find her nipples hardening to the bastard's touch. She tried to tell herself that they were hardening due to the cold but her brain told her differently – her brain told her that she was enjoying the touch of that bastard's hand.

She _WAS NOT_ enjoying the touch!

How _could_ her body think that she _was_?

Then fingers began to trace their way down her body and she felt her pubic hair being tugged, sending pain coursing through her vulva. Fingers were running up and down her labia. Again, her body sent signals to her brain and her brain _told_ her that she should be enjoying the sensual feelings that came from those movements along her labia. Megan willed the feelings away. They were fine when she was with Curtis and his strong hands were manipulating her body . . . but not in a Gotham alley while naked and being sexually assaulted by four teenagers.

Megan screamed, again, as those same fingers pushed apart her labia and without a moment's hesitation, they plunged deep inside of her. The pain was excruciating as the fingers explored her insides. The youth did not seem to care that she was flesh and blood, and not some blow-up doll. Megan could feel the pain in her backside where she had scrapped it across the concrete in her efforts to prevent the assault. Her legs were being forced apart, no matter how much she squeezed them together. Inexorably, she began to feel more and more exposed as nothing remained hidden to the four sets of prying and very excited eyes.

Then it happened – one of the youths could control himself no longer and Megan felt something hot and wet splash down across her groin, stomach and chest.

"Woah, man!" a voice called out. "You almost caught me with your string of pearls, man!"

"She's gorgeous . . . I couldn't keep it in . . ."

Megan sobbed. She knew what it was – Curtis had often done the same thing. But with Curtis, it had been sensual and pleasurable, but in that alley: what was beyond, 'degrading'?

Megan had no idea, and she was scared to death about finding out.

..._...

One of the youths – the shorter of the four – he appeared to be in charge.

The boy was about fifteen and he roughly shoved the recently expended youth out of the way and he stood directly above Megan, staring down at her. His eyes moved slowly from her feet, up her long legs, pausing at her shapely thighs which were a part of Megan's body which she herself loved – Curtis was also a fan of her thighs. Megan shivered from the cold as his eyes moved over her naked body. She felt sick to her core as those eyes took in every inch of her body. He paused at the top of her thighs and studied what lay between but he quickly moved on, frowning at Megan's taught stomach and the visible abs.

The boy knelt down on the ground and he unbuckled his pants. He shoved them down, along with his underwear. Megan whimpered as she saw the penis, standing up straight and ready – it was not large but bigger than Curtis' and Megan knew where it was going to be going, too. Her eyes could not leave the appendage as the boy placed his hand either side of her body and he leaned into her space.

"Hello, sweet thing. What should we call you?"

Megan spat in the boy's face. He grinned.

"We'll just call you: slut!" he laughed and his friends laughed too.

The boy ran a finger around her left breast before tapping the protruding nipple. Megan felt the tingling in her nipple generated by his touch and she felt horrified by the fact she was enjoying the feeling. The boy grinned.

"You enjoyed that, did you?"

"NO!"

Then Megan cringed. She felt the boy's skin against her own as he lay on top of her. She felt his hard penis nestling on her thighs. She closed her eyes as he bent forward to kiss her on the lips. Damn! She felt herself becoming aroused and that horrified her more than she could ever have thought possible. The boy could feel the heat being generated by her body, both because of the cold, and also due to her building arousal. Part of Megan was glad of the boy's contact – she was gaining some much-needed warmth for her body. The boy's jacket was rubbing against her nipples, encouraging them to harden ever further. The boy toyed with those erect nipples and from his own increased breathing, she knew that he was getting off at the touch. Megan tried to get one over on the boy as her courage began to return.

"First time with a girl?" she growled in a tone that scared her – it was so weak. "Think that little dick can perform?"

The boy stopped moving and he sat back on his haunches, grinning down at Megan. His reply chilled her.

"I can perform, slut. You are going to find out, just how well, I can perform. I am going to fuck you so hard – again and again. No – you are not my first conquest, neither are you my last."

The boy reached forwards and he ran his fingers over Megan's pubic mound and then down her labia. He caressed her clit, sending pulses rocketing to her brain and she let out an involuntary moan of pleasure.

"You, my slut . . . you are going to enjoy this."

With that comment, the boy lay down again. Megan screamed out as she felt his penis stabbing blindly into her labia. The boy pushed onwards and Megan was forced to take an involuntary deep breath as the boy thrust his penis between Megan's labia and deep inside her.

It was done – all dignity was gone.

..._...

Megan was screaming and to an outsider, she could have sounded like an animal in extreme distress.

She did everything she could to fight against his penetration of her body. She struggled to force her legs together. She felt the pain as her bottom rubbed against the bare concrete. She felt the fear returning and rising to a level that was turning her hysterical. She felt mortified by the fact that she was being fucked by a boy she did not know and that she was being watched by three other boys who were enjoying the sight of her torture. She realised that on the degradation scale, she was very near the top . . . or should that be the bottom.

Megan fought but with ever reducing vigour. The frustration that she felt inside her as she endured the thrusting movements between her legs and the rising stimulation of her internal and external points of sensitivity was becoming more than she could bear. She had never before experienced a penis inside of her and the tears streamed down her cheeks as she realised that Curtis was not to be her first – that loving moment when she would have given herself to the boy she loved, was gone, never to return.

Then the boy stopped.

Megan thought it was over – but no. The boy pulled his penis out of her and he sat back.

"Turn her over," he ordered and Megan found herself being picked up and roughly rolled onto her front. "Okay, doggy!"

Megan felt the rough hands lifting up her midriff and her legs were kicked apart. She screamed again as his penis was pushed deep inside her vagina from the rear and she felt hands on her breasts, squeezing them and rubbing the nipples. The boy kept thrusting, harder and harder against her bare buttocks. She could hear the skin slapping and she felt horrified by the sound. The screaming gave way to panting as the incredible stimulation began to take over and she actually found herself arching her back towards the boy as he thrust in and out of her, in and out.

The pain inside her, behind her vulva, was getting to be unbearable. Some of the pain was mitigated by the amazing – but unwanted - feelings which arose from that same part of her body as well as from her breasts which the boy was still massaging and kneading as he viciously fucked the twelve-year-old.

Megan began to become detached, her mind separating from her body. The bastard had her body, but he was not going to get her mind – he was not going to get _that_ pleasure. Megan knew enough about sexual exploration that her body would react as it saw fit, rather than how she herself felt. She tried to ignore the sensations, the wonderful sensations, that she was experiencing. She began to lose awareness of what was going on around her. The sounds faded and merged. Her eyes remained closed, blocking out the sights. She could not turn off her nerve endings – although she wished that she could. Despite the exertions of the activities, she could still feel the cold and just as she contemplated surviving the events which had overtaken her, she felt her body tensing up as muscles began to tighten and loosen.

The girl recognised an orgasm inbound – but the one coming for her like a freight train appeared way bigger than anything that she had ever endured at Curtis' hands, or her own.

..._...

Megan found herself screaming again.

It was unavoidable. The orgasm struck her with the force of an atom bomb. Her body curled into a ball and she shook as she absorbed the tremendous energy that flooded through her body. Just seconds before the orgasm struck, the boy had ejaculated inside her before falling back, away from his conquest. She had felt the hot liquid surge inside her, dragging her back to reality. She was horrified by what had happened and she sobbed as she endured the aftershocks caused by that bastard.

Several minutes passed before Megan was able to uncurl from her foetal position and as she forced open her eyes, expecting to see the leering boys, she felt cold drops of liquid on her bare skin. She sat up and stared down the alley – it was empty and she was alone. For another minute, she sat there on the ground, sobbing with relief.

It was over.

Megan stared up into the heavens and she relished the cold rain as it washed over her and washed away her tears. Her body was reeling with the shock of what she had been through. She forced herself to stand up and she felt something strange between her legs. She reached down and she felt something gooey and sticky oozing out from between her labia. She began to sob again as she realised what the substance was. Then, with a jerk, she realised where she was. She realised that she was standing completely naked, on the outskirts of Gotham, at night, in the rain, and she was shivering.

Megan looked around her and she began to gather together her clothing. It was scattered all around her. Megan struggled to pull on what was left of her clothes – she was shaking so badly and she was in a lot of pain. She pulled on her sweatshirt, ignoring the ripped blouse and her wrecked bra which she abandoned. She pulled on her jeans and her shoes, ignoring her sodden socks and her panties which were ripped. Once she was clothed, she pulled on her jacket, picked up her gun, and she began to retrace her steps back towards Wayne Manor and safety – there was no sign of her knife.

Her mind reeled as she considered everything that had occurred and how she was to tell people . . . no, she would tell no one. It was far too humiliating for anybody to find out what she had suffered. They would laugh at her . . . no, they would never do that. Still, how could she even begin to describe what had gone on in the past hour or so. She felt too ashamed to even think about it, let alone talk about it.

No, nobody would _ever_ know what she had _allowed_ to be done to her.

On a positive note, she kicked something as she stumbled back through the rain – it was her cell phone; losing that might have taken a lot of explaining.

* * *

 ** _An hour later_**

 ** _Wayne Manor_**

Megan stared at her naked body in the full-length mirror that was mounted on the back of the bathroom door.

She hated what she was seeing. She hated what that body had endured, just an hour before. She hated herself for allowing it to happen. She stared at her breasts and the very sore nipples which still protruded as if looking for more. Her eyes moved down her body to the top of her legs. She felt herself loathing her own body. She loathed the very sight of it. She could visualise the fingers on her vulva, pushing through the pubic hair and pulling apart her labia.

"You fucking slut!" she growled to herself in the mirror.

A voice in the back of her mind tried to tell her that it was the youths, only, she did not want to hear that. For a moment, Megan saw something in the mirror – her eyes, there was something different about her eyes. The darkness which she had seen in her eyes before – the darkness which marked her as a killer had been there ever since she had made her first kill outside the cinema, in defence of her friends – she had imagined the darkness growing each time she had killed since only it had seemingly stayed the same. As she stood there, naked, and stared into the mirror, she was certain that her eyes had changed.

She felt different. Ignoring the horror, she felt something moving into place and taking over within her. It was like there was somebody else inside of her body – it was like Megan was being shoved to one side and Wildcat was taking over. Normally, she turned Wildcat off when she removed her mask and she became Megan until she replaced the mask. It was easy to control her alter-ego, at least it had been. Megan knew that Mindy was permanently bonded with her alter-ego of Hit Girl and that Mindy had suffered when she had been unable to separate the two when Hit Girl had effectively taken over and turned her feral – was that the direction she was heading in?

Megan began to smile – maybe that wasn't a bad direction to be heading in.

..._...

It was time to wash off the evening's events.

Megan stifled a scream as the hot water touched the various bruises, scratches, and abrasions on her buttocks. Then again, as the water touched the abrasions and scrapes on the skin which covered her shoulder blades. The backs of her legs and arms, just stung, as did her back. Once the painful sensations had eased, Megan allowed her body to relax and she let the heat seep into her skin and muscles. She began to cry, as inside, she realised that it was over – she was safe. But was it over, she thought, as she eased her head under the water.

She lay there for almost a minute, watching her breath bubble up to the surface. She could hear her heart as it beat its constant rhythm within her chest. The sound was muted under the water but it was there. She was alive. She had survived. But had she survived? Megan had been the one attacked. Megan had failed. Megan felt guilt. Megan felt humiliation. Megan felt used. Megan felt miserable. Megan hated herself. Wildcat smiled. Wildcat was pleased. Wildcat was in control. Wildcat believed in that saying of Friedrich Nietzsche: 't _hat which does not kill us, makes us stronger'_. Wildcat, therefore, was stronger for what had been endured. Wildcat was. . .

Megan sat up, water spilling off her hair. NO! _She_ was in control. _Megan_ was in control. Megan sunk her head into her hands and she began to cry again.

"Megan?" Chloe called through the bathroom door. "Are you okay?"

Megan forced back the tears for a moment; hiding pain was something she was good at.

"Yeah – just wanna get the scum of Gotham off my skin."

Not all that far from the truth, Megan thought as Chloe laughed.

"Have fun – no playing, now!"

Megan tried to laugh but the laughter quickly turned into sobbing.

* * *

 _This storyline continues in_ **Chapter 340: Gotham – Deeper and Darker** _of my story,_ **Forsaken** _._


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